


Protective Uncle Cass

by wingsofanillyrian



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR - Freeform, ACOWAR, UNCLE CASSIAN, acomaf, feysand family, post ACOWAR, protective uncle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofanillyrian/pseuds/wingsofanillyrian
Summary: Cassian accompanies Oryn to his first Illyrian war camp.





	Protective Uncle Cass

The clash of steel on steel jolted Cassian from his slumber, and his hand automatically reached for the knife under his pillow. Remembering that he had been staying at a war camp, he sighed and released the blade. The sun was barely poking its head over the horizon and the Illyrians were already practicing.

Not that he could blame them. When it came to preparing for the Rite, you wanted every second of training you could get. It was a male eat male world out there, and few knew that better than he.

“Oryn?” Cassian cracked an eye open, and was unsurprised to find the cot beside him empty. He sat up with a sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. That boy went to bed later and rose earlier than anyone else he knew, and yet still had boundless energy.

Feyre had practically begged Cassian to accompany her son to Devlon’s camp to help him transition to the new dynamic. He almost told her that Oryn needed to figure it out on his own, but held his tongue. Feyre’s concern had been written on her face, plain as day. She’d heard their stories of the horrible beatings they had received at the camps, and of how harsh and unforgiving the Lords could be. She hadn’t wanted her son to come home broken.

So Cassian had gone with him, promising to stay for a month and make sure he gained a solid position in the pecking order.

“Where the hell are you, Oryn?” He grumbled, strapping a short sword to his belt. Pushing open the tent flap, he paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim morning light. Devlon’s gravelly voice sounded from the pits to his right.

“I told you to protect your damn flank!” A frustrated growl followed the words, both a threat and a demand.

“I am!” Cassian frowned. He knew that small, vulnerable voice. It was one that still held the innocence of youth, untouched by the perils of the world. He walked to the edge of the pit, watching as Oryn flicked his shaggy raven hair from his eyes and lifted his sword awkwardly. Even from this distance, Cassian could tell that it was unbalanced in his hand; not at all the right weapon for him to be training with.

Something that Devlon was certainly well aware of as well.

But Cassian would not interfere. That was the promise he had made to Rhys when he came here; he wouldn’t step in unless absolutely necessary.

Devlon swiped at Oryn again, a swift blow that he barely had time to deflect. His chest was heaving as he stared the older male down, fire blazing behind his violet eyes. Devlon let out a harsh laugh, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

“Pathetic. You can’t even hold a sword correctly, you spoiled prince!” Cassian bristled at the words, wings flaring unconsciously. Oryn was panting, obviously drained as he let the sword tip hit the sand.

“My heritage does not define me,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow and turning his back on the other male. “I’m done for now. I’ll train with Cassian later.”

Devlon took advantage of his lapse in judgement and slashed at Oryn with a dagger he produced from his belt, giving the young male no time to react. Oryn cried out in shock and touched his cheek, his fingers coming away coated in scarlet.

Faster than any of them could process, Cassian dropped into the pit between the camp lord and his nephew. He drew his sword, preparing for the impending fight.

“ _How dare you,”_ he hissed, features twisted in disgust. “He is seven years old. You knew he was doing the best he could; he’s only been here a week. That sword you gave him is incorrectly weighted, you bastard, and he doesn’t know how to counter balance it yet.”

Devlon’s lips curled into a devilish grin. “Just doing my job.”

“Does your job description include spilling the blood of your High Lord and Lady’s son?”

“Training accidents happen everyday. And by the way, Cassian, the only bastard here is  _you._ ”

The only warning Devlon received was the bright red flash of Cassian’s siphons before he struck. A fist of his power slammed into his gut, knocking him back against the wall. He slumped against it, moaning as he clutched his bleeding head.

Cassian glanced back at Oryn. “Okay, kid?” He asked, eyeing the already clotting wound under his eye.

Oryn nodded, flexing his fingers at his side. “Thank you, Uncle.” Cassian grinned, opening his mouth to spout a witty remark, but was interrupted by a low chuckle.

Devlon struggled to stand on shaking legs. His beady eyes settled on Oryn, and Cassian instinctively sunk into a fighting stance.

“Too scared to face me alone, prince?” Devlon taunted, waving his hand at Cassian. Oryn looked to his uncle with violet eyes brimming with determination, and the young Illyrian flared his wings wide.

“I can do this,” He said in a voice so much like his father’s that Cassian blinked in surprise. Cassian took a step back, and Oryn picked up his sword and stalked to smug commander to glare up at him.

Oryn shook his head. “I fight my own battles. I’m a warrior in my own right.” With the flick of his finger, a cut twin to his own appeared on Devlon’s cheekbone, and he grunted. He dropped the sword at Devlon’s feet before turning and leaving the pit.

Good for him, Cassian thought. Being able to control his rage so well would certainly prove helpful for him in the future. However, Cassian’s own temper was still roiling at the camp lord.

“You pull shit like that again,” he said, voice simmering with violence, “and you’ll wake up in a dungeon. You will not train him again.” Devlon bared his teeth at the order, but didn’t speak.

“If you so much as critique the position of his pinkie, you’ll regret it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,  _sir.”_

Cassian didn’t tell Oryn, but he’d be leaving in the morning. He glanced up at the lip of the pit, where a crowd of young warriors had been watching the entire scene unfold. He grinned up at the gathered boys, most of whom were starting at him with wide eyes.

Cassian was  _pretty_  sure no one would be bothering his nephew anytime soon.


End file.
